


Calling in A Favor

by Nehszriah



Series: The Teacher, the Media Man, and the President of the United States [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Prompt Fic, again: mostly friendship fic, and Pinkwald is there but not, this prompt makes me sad, though it is the true start of a great alliance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 07:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4995238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of a quiet week at work, Malcolm gets a call from someone he didn't expect: Clara, the woman he sat on a plane with, and she needs his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calling in A Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I open up prompts over on tumblr, and I got this one over the weekend concerning the Single Serving Friends story. I thought it would be interesting, so I jumped on it.
> 
> Prompt was "Malcolm & Clara, some time after that plane flight, they meet again. Romance because now he's free and so is Clara (for reasons tragic or mundane)? Or some other kind of connection?" Archive warning applies to pre-prompt events.

It had been a very quiet week in Malcolm’s diary. Those whose cock-ups were normally under his jurisdiction were behaving well enough to where he barely had to leave his office all week, let alone Number 10, and it made him feel suspicious. He was hoping that a clusterfuck wasn’t in the making, that he’d come into work on Monday and find everything in such a state that they might as well take a page from the ancient Japanese and start everything from square one. Even Sam was struggling to find things to do that Friday afternoon, and she was a _master_ at finding the little things to keep operations running smoothly. That’s why they worked so well, he knew.

“Malcolm?” Sam walked into the office, her brow furrowed in confusion. “There’s someone on the phone for you—says you gave her your card.”

“I did?” he blinked. He didn’t give out business cards often, and more often than not, they were the one that redirected to a sex hotline—only people that _really mattered_ had his true contact information.

“Yeah. She said her name is Clara and you met on a flight from Amsterdam to London. Does it ring a bell, or should I try getting rid of her?”

A light when on in his head; yes, now he remembered. “Give her over. I told her she could call me if her or her lad ever got in a bit of trouble.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Positive—didn’t seem like the type to misuse a favor. She kept me sane and I owe her one.”

“Okay…” Sam turned around and walked out, shutting the door behind her. Moments later and the phone on Malcolm’s desk rang. He picked it up immediately, putting a cocky grin on his face despite the fact his conversation partner wasn’t even in the room.

“Hey Clara; didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon,” he said. “You put a ring on that man of yours yet?”

“…n-no,” she replied quietly. She was too quiet, enough so that Malcolm’s face quickly morphed into a scowl.

“Are you okay? Are you in trouble?”

“No, but… Malcolm, I know this is asking a lot, and it’d be okay if you said no, but could you come over when you’re done at work? Please?”

He knew that sound, the waver in someone’s voice when they wanted to say everything and nothing at once, the need for a friendly ear and another person to make tea for. “I get off at five. Where am I headed?” He scribbled down the address and told her to hang in there—help was on the way.

After killing a couple more hours and ducking inside a pastry shop enroute, Malcolm walked up to one of the most normal-looking flat blocks he could have imagined and was buzzed in by security. He went up to Clara’s flat and knocked on the door, staring at his shoes while he waited for an answer.

When she opened up the door, a nerve deep in his gut twitched; she had been crying, and hard by the looks of it. She could barely look at him—was she rethinking having called?

“Come in,” she said, stepping to the side and letting her guest in. Malcolm followed Clara through her tiny flat and immediately knew what had happened: flowers everywhere, cards, boxes of things unseen and unsorted, a general lack of care about the place. She didn’t have to say a word.

“When did it happen?” he wondered.

“Two weeks ago; traffic accident,” she explained simply. She busied herself with making tea, going through the motions shakily. “We… we were…” She swallowed hard. “Engaged.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “I know you’ve heard this a lot, but I’m sorry. I really mean it.”

“Thank you, and I believe you, truly.” Clara poured the boiling water in the pot and brought it over to the table, where Malcolm had opened the pastry box.

“I didn’t know if you were allergic to anything, so I got a bit of everything, except peanuts.” He pointed at one in the corner, wrapped up in tissue. “That one’s filled with hazelnut.”

“You’re amazing,” she sighed, taking the hazelnut donut. She bit into it and moaned happily at the taste. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing! Where’d you get it?!”

“A little shop I know; the cunt that owns it used to live next to me when we both were in starter flats. Randy little fucker, he was,” he said. He poured the both of them tea and plucked a pastry of his own from the box. Strawberry and lots of icing. “So, talk to me. Something tells me you didn’t bring me all the way over here just to have tea.”

She glanced at him guiltily from across the table. “Dad left last week and Gran’s train was last night. I don’t know who to turn to anymore.”

“Friends? Danny’s folks?”

“Most of my friendships fell by the wayside once I started teaching and Danny doesn’t… didn’t have family.”

“…meaning you turned to me: a man you spent a couple hours with almost half a year ago.”

“I know it seems silly, but I was cleaning up and found your card the other day. Something inside told me that wasn’t an accident…” She trailed off, staring at the half-eaten pastry in her hand.

“What, finding my card, or what happened to Danny?”

“Both.” She quickly stole a glance at Malcolm’s hand—no ring. “I’m not asking you to spend the night—”

“—wouldn’t dream of it, even if you asked, because you’re a respectful person and these flowers haven’t even needed dead-heading yet.”

“…but can you please stay here with me for a while? I just need someone here… someone who I know won’t just tell me what they think I want to hear,” Clara said.

“We barely know each other,” he replied.

“Yes, and, I read up on you after the flight. Despite all the horror stories I found, you were genuinely kind to me for no reason at all. That means a lot to me.”

Malcolm breathed deeply and watched as she continued chewing her snack. Her family was back to their own business, few friends she could genuinely turn to, and what she needed was someone to hold her and not say it was going to be alright. Things were up Shite Burn, no paddle, and it was going to be a mess from here on out for her. Didn’t she work with Danny? Christ, she _did_. It was lucky for him he didn’t work with his ex, though he couldn’t imagine if it was a widowing instead of a divorce. He stood up and held out his hand.

“Please,” he requested.

Clara put her hand in his and got out of her chair, allowing him to lead her out of the kitchen and find the tiny sitting room. He let go long enough to take off his jacket and drape it over the armchair, afterwards sitting down on the couch, stretching his legs over the cushions and pulling her down into his lap. Malcolm wrapped his arms around her, sheltering her from the world around.

“I’m here for you,” he said. “Now go ahead and let it out. _Then_ we can talk about the injustice in the world.”

At that, Clara cried.


	2. Omlettes and Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up getting another prompt that seemed to line up perfectly with the end of the first chapter, so I decided to tack it onto this one instead of making it its own thing.
> 
> Prompt for this one was "Let's nudge that Malcolm x Clara storyline along: what happens after she cries herself out? What makes Malcolm decide to get to know her better than he does?"

It took a long time for Clara to finish crying. By the time she was done, Malcolm’s shirt was wet with tears and snot, having been used as a giant kerchief. She gasped when she realized what she’d done, mortified.

“I’m sorry!” she panicked. “I didn’t mean to…!”

“Hey, you’re fine,” he assured. “Hey, it’s late; you have something to eat yet?”

“No, but…”

“…then go and take a shower, wash your face, feel better, and I’ll figure out what to make us. Pastries and tea are nice, but I think we both need something a bit more filling.”

Reluctantly, Clara nodded and retreated to the bathroom. She locked the door, got in the shower, and stayed under the water until her skin became wrinkled and waterlogged. After drying off and changing into a comfortable pair of pajama bottoms and one of Danny’s old t-shirts, she followed the smell coming from her kitchen and found Malcolm making omlettes, his sleeves rolled up and a hum on his lips. She set the table as he continued cooking and soon they were eating together.

“This is really good,” Clara marveled. “What did you do?”

“Nothing special—just a lot of practice,” Malcolm admitted. He took the salt shaker and placed a tiny bit more on his omlette. “Believe it or not, it’s how I wooed my ex-wife.”

“Through omlettes?”

“Through food in general—I often cook to cool down after a long day of wading through a bollocks-high mess of cunts at work.” He chewed his food for a moment and thought. “What do you do to relax after a long day of the kids trying to skive off reading their Brontës?”

“I used to travel, though that’s a little more… difficult these days,” she said.

“Used up all your vacation days? It happens.”

“Sort of; I’d been learning how to do stuff at home the past few months, like sewing and how to fix the bathroom sink. Danny and I were looking at houses, so sometimes I’d go and scan listings.”

“Trying to get a house in this market is a bitch and a half—only a whole bitch if you’ve got kids,” he replied. “Not to be mean, but were you planning on it?”

“Yeah, we were planning on being parents and knew it’d take until I was waddling-pregnant at the earliest to get a house,” Clara said. She looked at her half-eaten omlette and exhaled heavily. “At least now I have more time to go through books to see how I can spice up the curriculum.”

“Ach, don’t say that. If Danny was as good of a man you made him out to be, then he’d want you to be happy. Not forget him, but move on, get another guy in your life. You’re clever and young yet—get your best mate to introduce you to someone.”

“Hate to say it, but my best friend left not too long after Danny died,” she muttered sadly. “Work, nothing personal… just awful timing.”

Malcolm poked at egg remnants on his plate, musing on that for a moment. “I know of plenty of bachelors in government, semi-eligible and otherwise. There’s three aides in the Ministry of Education alone.” She laughed at that, which made him feel a bit better about his cheering-up skills. A jolt hit him and his thoughts ricocheted back to before he brought her to the couch for a cry. 

“What was it that you said earlier about how you didn’t think what happened to Danny was an accident?”

“Oh, that.” Clara went quiet and nodded slightly before continuing. “Danny wasn’t the sort to make enemies, but he was a soldier before he became a teacher. There are some people that make soldiers out to be killers… that they sign up so they can go across the world to do what they would get arrested for at home. He wasn’t that soldier, anyone who talked with him could say that with confidence, but it doesn’t stop some people.”

“You think he was killed intentionally?” Malcolm’s eyebrows rose and his eyes bugged. “Have you told the police?”

“Yeah, and the case has been thrown out,” she grumbled, disgusted with the entire thing. “They got the driver on traffic cameras, but there’s nothing connecting him to anything seedy. It’s just, I have a gut instinct—even if the driver feels remorse, he did it on purpose.”

“Unfortunately, convictions aren’t made on intuition alone,” he frowned. He stewed in his thoughts, ideas racing through his head a mile a minute. “Did Danny ever see action overseas?”

“Yes, in Afghanistan,” Clara said. “He was deployed twice, but quit halfway through his second round because of a friendly fire incident.”

“Destroyed the wrong village?”

“Unknowingly killed a young boy while carrying out an order; he joined the military to protect people, so the fact that’s how it ended… there’s a reason why he went into teaching.” Her eyes began to water as she remembered a conversation she had long ago. “Danny ignored the rest of the mission trying to get Mahmud emergency care, but it was too late. It’s why he swore to help kids, _loved_ helping kids, and wanted to do everything in his power to give our students a better life, because it would go towards preventing another accident like Mahmud.”

As Clara began to cry again, Malcolm rested his hand on hers. “That sounds like one shitty case of survivor’s guilt. He had to be pretty strong to have that on his hands, and I bet his officer didn’t lose a bit of sleep.”

“No, he didn’t,” she affirmed. She squeezed his hand back before reaching for a napkin and dabbing at her eyes. “I know my fiancé was a good man despite what he did, but the driver of that van was an absolutist.”

He waited to make sure she was done and cleared his throat. “School’s almost done for the season, yeah?”

“Yeah… what of it?”

“Pretty soon you’re going to have a lot more time on your hands, no one to spend it with, and a court case you need to figure out how to approach. I take it your lawyer’s been no help?”

“Little—says there’s no way to broach the idea without it looking like a petty argument,” she said.

“If you’re comfortable with the idea, I’ve got a bunch of law books at my house. Old, new, textbooks, politicians stuttering while an editor spit-polishes their shit up… you can look through those and it’s better than having a go on Google or at the library,” he offered. “I have a guest bedroom if you stay too late and plenty of people actually _in law_ in my address book to ask questions.”

“…but why?” Clara asked, utterly confused. “Malcolm, you don’t know me…”

“That’s true, but the last thing you need is an empty place, nothing to do, and no one to talk to,” he explained. “Some weeks I’m rarely home, so it will be good to know someone’s watching the place, and I know what it’s like.”

“…what what’s like?”

“…to come home and realize that the love of your life will never be in your arms again, no matter how much you plead and damn the world around you.” He wrung his hand unconsciously, the absence of his wedding ring still bothering him. “Our circumstances are different, but I think we can do what we can to help one another. It’d be nice to come home and see someone there again.”

“How do I know you’re not trying to play me for a fool?” she asked. It was a legitimate question—one he already had the answer to.

“I’m not playing you because one false move on my part and my sorry arse is getting plastered on every tabloid and gossip rag from here to Caithness, and I’m too busy dealing with cocksuckers at work to bother messing with a vulnerable woman in my home. Not my style at all,” he scoffed. “You’re not scamming me because you did your homework on me and know what I’m capable of. I’m boogeyman by trade, and if you cross me there will be a day when instead of showing up at your door with gourmet pastries, it would be a court order and the promise that you’ll never be able to teach in Greater London and the surrounding counties for the rest of your years.”

“Sounds reasonable,” she said. “When do you want me to start coming over?”

“On a Sunday—I most often have those off—but only when you’re ready.” He reached across the table to where she had set her mobile earlier when they sat down for tea. “May I?”

“It’s unlocked.”

“Good,” he said. Malcolm grabbed the device and punched in a new contact. “That’s my personal number. Text me anytime when you need to, or to ask if I’m free for a call. I might not answer right away, but it’s good to send it out.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re so ready and willing to help me,” Clara said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“You remembered his name,” he said plainly. “Danny remembered his name… _you_ remembered his name… that speaks volumes. You sure you’re happy in teaching, because the government could use a couple decent people like you.”

“I’m sure,” she replied. “Thanks, Malcolm. I owe you one.”

“Now I’ve got the favor to call in,” he grinned, trying to brighten her mood. “How the tides have turned.”


End file.
